


Deceptive Ataraxia

by Lucid_Mew



Series: Hybrid 'verse [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Battle/Violence, Brainwashing, Captivity, Dubious Consent, Friendship, Human/Hybrid Pairings, Hybrid/Hybrid Pairings, Hybrids, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:52:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucid_Mew/pseuds/Lucid_Mew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something sinister is going on far under the streets of Hearthome. Something secret. But nothing secret can remain buried forever, especially not when that 'something secret' is actively working to escape.</p><p>Team Plasma's reach is far, and their hidden experiments many, but when they move too quickly and their plans are rewritten it just may cause the tremors that crack their foreign base wide open. What happens in Unova could decide the fate of those trapped under Hearthome... But they can't wait for a hero; they must save themselves.</p><p>They must save themselves, but it might be too late to save all of them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue; Dawn of an Era

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third incarnation of an idea that spawned in my mad little head nearly ten years ago, and just keeps evolving as I grow older. Hopefully this is the one that finally satisfies the idea. If it seems familiar, it's because a rougher version is posted over at Fanficiton.net under a different penname :3
> 
> This story will run the full gamut of pairings; M/M, F/F, M/F, and who knows, maybe more. Once more characters are introduced, I'm open to pairing suggestions.

* * *

 

            She missed the sun.

 

            It was always dark, now. She was cold, and hungry, and so weak that most of the time she didn't have the strength to keep herself from leaning forward. Her shoulders were in a constant state of agony from the way her arms were bound to the wall behind her—palms flat to cold stone, so high up that it forced her to bow forward, but there was also a strange bar that pressed between her shoulder blades that kept her back straight.

 

            Her knees hurt so badly from kneeling that she couldn't really _feel_ them anymore, only a hot throb that kept time with her slow, _slow_ , heartbeat.

 

            Pain and silence. And hunger and thirst.

 

            And screaming.

 

            _'Please help me! Please! Let me out!'_

 

            Crying.

 

            _'I won't hurt anyone!_ ** _Please!_** _I'll be good, I'll be good…'_

 

            More screaming.

 

            _'I'll kill you all! Let me_ ** _out_** _! Damnit, let me go!'_

 

            Whispers lost to the dark.

 

            _'I forgive you, it's okay. It's not so bad. I'm better this way. I like it. Can I come out now? Please? **Please?** '_

 

            Nothing made sense anymore. Why was she here? Where was she?

 

            Bits and pieces of sights and sounds floated through her head, there one moment and gone the next, pulled away by a power she couldn’t fight, destroyed the moment they left her head. At the beginning, she recognized them as her _memories_ and tried to hold onto them, but it only made the power pull harder, shattering more around them and leaving her thrashing and seizing and frothing where she hung. It _hurt_.

 

            _A little blue bird pokémon with a shiny black camera lens strapped to its head.—_

_A pale teen with disheveled brown hair and wide green eyes; face gray with agony and speckled with blood. He screamed soundlessly as the claws of a green talon gripped his face and drew slowly down, splitting the flesh below his eye.—_

_A young man covered in sleek, short black fur. He smiled at her with short, sharp fangs and crimson eyes that sparkled with gleeful madness, long, bone white claws wet with green-tinged blood.—_

_A woman that resembled a dark Buneary, seen through the bars of a cage. Large, mournful brown eyes boring into her own, telling her to hold on, speaking words of hope that she couldn’t help but believe. This woman had saved her once before, and she might’ve just loved her a little bit for it.—_

_People in white, surrounding her, everywhere she looked. They stared at her like she was something under a microscope, something to be picked apart and opened up until they knew what made her tick.—_

_People in white, screaming. Guns. Pain. Their throats and faces split under long green leaves that were sharp like blades. Blood everywhere.—_

_Painpainpain… White. And absence of everything. A green, reptilian pokémon with a crimson belly and bright yellow eyes, extending its claw towards her invitingly.—_

_Panic! Cornered and trapped in a dark alley, a large hand muffling her screams for help, the sharp, bruising jab of a needle to her neck and her vision blurring to black.—_

_Loneliness. A dark house. Long hours of searching for odd jobs to make some money. Regret. That she'd never trained pokémon. That she'd had a falling out with her family over her choice to leave Oreburgh and the strange, subdued way her father made them live. Like he was hiding, scared.—_

_A woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. A man with dark green hair and gray, just like her. "If only you'd have looked more like your mother," he said with a smile, but fear made his shoulders stay firm as he hugged her, told her that she couldn’t go to school with all the other children.—_

_Confusion, anxious fear. "But I don't wanna leave, Da." He continued to usher her and her mother onto the plane, the light of false dawn the backdrop of their exodus. The pilot of the plane watching with dark eyes, quiet words exchanged between he and her father as they clasped hands. Her mother, petting her hair and holding her close, shaking and voice unsteady. "Say goodbye to Mistralton City, sweetheart. Say goodbye to home…"—_

_A man with long, light green hair and eyes the color of scabs looming tall over her, eyes too sharp to make his smile friendly, or anything less than creepy. "Oh, little girl, your father has been very bad. Now, you give him this paper and ask him if he knows what happens to traitors. There's a good girl…"—_

 

            More and more left until she was more empty than full and she retched and bitter bile flooded her throat and she choked and her shoulders _burned_.

 

            And the darkness swallowed her whole.

 

* * *

 

            Deep beneath the city of Hearthome in the Sinnoh region, there existed a complex completely unknown to the thousands of people that lived above it. Within that complex worked over a hundred people, scientists of varied branches, and only the barest few still had records that they had ever existed outside of the sprawling maze of chrome and concrete. Only a very small number of people outside the complex knew of their existence; to everyone else –even their families– they were dead.

 

            This was their choice, their sacrifice, because otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to take part in –had it been known to those who would judge it so– a highly illegal and immoral operation.

 

            All of this was for the _other_ inhabitants of the complex. The subjects of the scientists, an ever-growing number of beings that could no longer be called human, for all that that is what they once were. It was _they_ who the scientists were there for; their creations, the fruits of their labor. The intellectuals, almost universally, disregarded that these creatures had once been human beings much like themselves, with families and lives and livelihoods. That at least some of them would be missed by someone, somewhere.

 

            _(Then again, very few of them had any idea of the bigger picture. Most of them didn’t even know who the Boss who had headhunted them was, **who** exactly it was that they were working for, or why they were creating these hybrids. The bosses within the complex knew, and the answer wasn’t ‘scientific curiosity’.)_

 

             The beings for the most part were treated little better than animals, and sometimes worse. They were neither human nor pokémon, and because of their status as something new, something in-between – _hybrids_ – they were given none of the rights allotted to either of their genetic originators. Many of them, though, retained the ability of higher thought, and more importantly, reasoning. And some of them planned.

 

            They wanted out. They wanted to be _free_.

 

            The scientists had an inkling of this, but there existed elements to which they remained oblivious…

 

* * *

 

            Alone within a locked, darkened room, was a man. Seated before a large wall of screens, face lit with blue light, he looked at first alike to many of the other scientists in residence, but that was only at first glance; the way he held himself spoke of an authority that was not affected by the open, causal way he wore his long white lab coat. He was strong, handsome, and would have been almost strangely anonymous with his messy brown hair and dark hazel eyes if it wasn’t for the livid, still-healing scar that pulled from the corner of his mouth up to his cheek like half a Chelsea grin.

 

            In the static quiet of the room, the scarred man was utterly still except for those cool eyes, which flickered intently over the dozens of screens and the subtitles that ran across the bottom of each. Contrary to their usual function, and in stark defiance of what most of the scientists held to be true –that they were utterly cut-off from the outside world this far underground– each of the screens displayed a news program. Occasionally, the man would reach out and tap a command on the sleek keyboard before him, and a screen would dutifully play in sound.

 

            _"-eni Rannulf, nephew of our own Elite Four's Karen, is still listed as 'missing'. As you may remember, his status has been so since he missed his greatly anticipated League match last year…"_ Kanto.

 

            _Click._

_"…Adicus Lyle, 16, son of Argus Lyle, the president of Lyle Medical Technologies is still missing. New footage shows him leaving_ _Ecruteak_ _City_ _in the company of an unknown male; local police now suspect foul play. If you have any information on the disappearance of Adicus Lyle, please call…"_ Johto.

 

            _Click._

_"…grandchild of well know archeologist Sani Niyol has been reported 'missing' today. Sources state he disappeared from a Fallabor emergency room after falling from one of the nearby slopes…"_ Hoenn.

 

            _Click._

_"…a generous reward is being offered for any information leading to the whereabouts of Felice Aldair, last seen two weeks ago in_ _Floaroma_ _Town_ _. Ms. Aldair, the heiress of the Aldair family fortune…"_ Sinnoh.

_Click_

_"In other news, 'Team Plasma'…"_

 

_Click, click, click._

At once the screens went black, before quickly flicking back to their default views of the many labs, hallways and cells that the surveillance room kept track of. For a long minute the man continued to stare at the screen that had briefly displayed the Unova news, lips twisting into a frown and pulling his scar grotesquely. It was the third time in as many days that Team Plasma had warranted a mention on the news, small as it was.

 

            "Damn." He cursed quietly, removing his hands from the keyboard and reaching into one of the deep pockets of his coat, at once finding the compact, closed-circuit radio he always carried. "Morgan, come in." Brief silence as he awaited an answer, then a crackle of static and a woman's voice.

 

            "Copy, Erebos. What do you need?" Her voice was low and level, oddly distorted by static from nearby Mt. Coronet’s magnetic interference.

 

            "Don't let any of the on-site field agents leave base and call the others back. It looks like Plasma's moving early. They’ll need new orders." Even as he spoke, 'Erebos' (he still had an identity outside; it would be foolish to use his real name in association with what he did down here) was moving to the door, giving only a passing glance to a huge cabinet that contained well over a hundred pokéballs kept in stasis, all neatly labeled by trainer name and chronologically from time they were obtained. They were prefaced by red if their trainer no longer lived. Most of them were prefaced by red.

 

            "Damn." The woman unknowingly echoed. "Right, on it, the orders will be out within the hour. What will you do in the meantime? They could really use you in—"

 

            "What do you _think_ I'm going to do?" He interrupted with quiet intensity, fingers bleaching white as he squeezed the radio, tempted to crush it if only to avoid yet another resurgence of the same conversation. There was a long silence, almost long enough to fool him into believing the matter had been dropped, before her voice crackled through again, quieter than before. More urgent.

 

            "Erebos, I know it worked for… _His_ Kricketune, but it had been addled before he started! There’s no telling how it’ll turn out this time! And… do you _know_ what he does with that thing?" The static worsened briefly as her voice rose with disgust before she dropped it back to a low whisper. "I'm just… Are you _sure_ you really want to do this? With _that_ specimen? She was the one who—"

 

            Erebos cut Morgan off pointedly, silently pressing the call button on his transmitter to bombard hers with static. Displeasure turned his expression cold, and it carried into his voice when he replied. A sweep of his eyes confirmed that the hall he traveled was empty, absolutely silent but for the hum of the overhead lights. No one was there to overhear, but even if there was they would know better than to repeat what they heard.

 

            "I know exactly who she was, Morgan. In case you’ve forgotten, _I_ am the one that she scarred. And if only for that, she is the _only_ one I would choose, as much as I am given a choice.” Then he lowered his voice to match hers, though it was more in mockery than care to hide his words. "And of course I know what _He_ does to his little pet— _I_ am the one who scrubs the tapes."

 

            "You—?!"

 

            "Get back to work, Morgan. Erebos, out."

 

            The radio remained silent after that, and he slipped it back into his pocket, fingers brushing the single pokéball he kept on him at all times. He knew that this wouldn’t be the last time he would hear from Morgan about this, not with the tantalizing leads he’d dropped for her, but hopefully she would leave it be long enough for him to properly ‘bond’ with his new ‘partner’ (though not like that little redheaded Freak did, for Kyurem’s sake; he may have scrubbed the tapes but he didn’t want to see _that_ ).

 

            But dealing with Morgan’s concerns was an issue for another time, one that could be solved easily enough when he could _show_ the fool woman the results of his work.

 

            All the problems from that specimen came from nothing more than a particularly bad introduction to her lot in the compound, and an overdeveloped sense of worth. Both were, for the most part, purely human ideals. Without those, she would ultimately be much easier to handle. But why stop there when he knew superior results were still feasible? Wiping memories was a tedious and time-consuming process, fraught with complications, but very much worth it in this case. The _fighting_ potential in that one was nearly unmatched thus far, and if _he_ could be the one to harness that? It would _almost_ be worth all the trouble she’d given them.

 

            Fingering the scar that disfigured his face, Erebos unhurriedly made his way back to the busier section of the compound. To the isolation cell and the occupant that unknowingly awaited him. That was unknowingly _his_ now.

 

            He could still have his payback for the ruination of half of his job, and now that she was his…no one could say one damn thing about it.

 

* * *

 

            It still missed the sun, but in a distant sort of way. It missed the comfort and warmth of sitting in the light, the safety and assurance provided by the thing that gave its body and spirit much needed nourishment, but it was all so _distant_.

 

            The 'sun' was only an idea, for all that it was something dearly yearned for. It didn't remember the sun—didn't remember _seeing_ the ball of fire so far up, or ever sitting in a beam of light… It was all removed, like someone had told of the phenomena, once, perhaps a very long time ago.

 

            But that wasn't right. It had been alone for as long as it could remember—no one talked to it, so no one could have told it of the sun, or warmth, or safety, or peace.

 

            It was confused. Why was it thinking? Everything was dark and quiet and the air was close and foul and that was _all it could remember_.

 

            The air pulsed in a torturously familiar way, and it groaned and leant forward despite the pain in its arms: when it gagged the bile still almost choked it as the Thing pulled yet more from the aching emptiness of its head. There was nothing left to take, though, and the emptiness refused to grown any larger, and the Thing left it alone.

 

            Over its own hissing, hitching breaths, it didn't hear the darkness split and open… But it saw the white light when it came.

 

            _'Was this the sun?'_

* * *

 


	2. Identity

 

 

            Erebos had not seen the hybrid that was to be his partner since it was decided that they would be taken into isolation, more than two weeks previous at the end of a series of unmitigated disasters. It only took a glimpse into the dank cell to realize the impact of the procedure, and another second to consider the work that it might take to get them back to peak performance. The change in appearance alone was radical; between the perpetual darkness and the barrage of psychic attacks, the pokémon hybrid seemed to have collapsed in on itself, a pale ghost of the feral beast it had gone in as.

 

            It was almost difficult to reconcile the sight the Grovyle hybrid made now as the very same thing that had managed to disfigure him. For the first time since he approved the –largely experimental– procedure, Erebos contemplated his own investigation of the reports the group responsible for this project had compiled: The effects of the total light deprivation –needed to ensure the grass-type couldn't photosynthesize enough energy to resist the attacks– were far more drastic than expected, or even what _He_ had predicted when consulted. There would need to be blood work, Erebos thought drearily, to be sure the damage wouldn’t affect future performance.

 

            The once vibrant green scales that covered the hybrid's body had faded dramatically, paled so much as to be nearly white, while the crimson scales covering its front had turned dull pink, like a bloodless wound. The coloring was even more striking compared to the messily shorn mop of dark green hair on their head, stubbornly human as if in defiance of the mostly pokémon body. Identical to the origin pokémon species, the hybrid had nine leaves total: Three on the outside of either wrist, each roughly the same length as their forearm, one at the crown of the head that curved back in a natural arch to about the small of the back, and two leaves from the tailbone that equaled exactly half their height. When the hybrid had been put in confinement, the leaves were healthy and dark, sharp and lethal; now, they were sickly yellow-brown and limp, more likely to be torn than used as the weapons they were. Another opportunity to test if standard pokémon medicine had the same effects on the hybrids; the group still wasn’t having much luck in keeping their grass-types intact for very long.

 

            Their overall body weight hadn’t degraded much during the wipe, sustained on the same cocktail of chemicals each of the hybrids were pumped full of during their initial transformation to keep their organs from failing under extreme stress, the port of which was located between the shoulder blades and attached by the line of tubes to the wall they were tethered to, into an adjoining lab. Kneeling and forced forward by restraints as they were, he wouldn’t even have to worry about a kick fueled by Grovyle-given powerful thighs, had the hybrid been so inclined to attack him even after the procedure.

 

Erebos still remembered retrieving her from the quiet streets of Hearthome, a young woman with long forest-green hair and angry gray eyes. How she kicked and fought and tried to bite even after the needle was in her neck. Afterwards, when the transformation had succeeded, how she had fought on instinct, cut his face open so cleanly he hadn’t even felt it until the heat of his blood registered. The latent transformation, after, that had taken the rest of her human visage and only magnified that anger, until it was decided that she was a liability; kill her or… (And someone high up didn’t want her dead, so the only option that remained…). Erebos had been forced into this position, this farce of ‘partnership’ with a sub-human beast he would rather see left out for the Murkrow, but he was a professional, and he knew potential when he saw it. So he would make the best of this situation, even if it meant treating the hybrid like _she_ (because he couldn’t get away with calling the hybrid an ‘it’ forever, it would be too telling) was an old friend.

 

Less than one minute of looking into that dark, foul cell and he could see the difference, beyond the physical damage that would have to be treated before she could be useful to him. He remembered how she fought, how if restrained from physical attacks she would Screech at him and any other scientist in range until they were driven away. There was no muzzle on her reptilian face at the moment; she could’ve Screeched if she were so inclined.

 

            But she _wasn’t_ inclined, because _there_ was the difference he was looking for, the only one that mattered at all. Wide yellow eyes were staring at him through lank strands of dark green hair, and _there_ was the most dramatic change, _there_ was the one that had smug satisfaction and accomplishment curling within him. There was no recognition in that gaze, none of the anger or hate that had defined all of their interactions before. There was no fang-baring snarl splitting those long, inhuman jaws. No attempts to lunge and slash like they had so often tried before.

 

            Only confusion. Blank incomprehension, and burning curiosity.

 

            _Perfect_.

 

* * *

 

            With an almost physical sense of disappointment –an _ache_ from skin to even deeper than bone– it realized that the cold light was not from the sun after all. An instinct in knowing the constitution of that light, perhaps, but even the cold light managed to energize somehow. Touched it and gave enough strength to force its limp neck to tighten, to open its eyes, to look _up_.

 

            There was someone there.

 

            It blinked slowly, confused – _how did it know what a person (a man a human) was but not itself… (No, not important.)_ –, and parted the jaws slightly, inhaling fresh air and the scents carried in. It blinked again and looked harder at the man, tired but keen eyes cutting through the persistent dimness of the room: Relatively tall, tan, strong; brown hair, hazel eyes, and a fresh, livid scar that cut one side of his mouth into a crooked, gruesome smile. But something, _something_ in that scent seemed _familiar_ …

 

            "Do you know me?" it rasped earnestly, leaning forward, briefly forgetting the position it was stuck in and hissing a pained breath at the new flare of agony from the shoulders. The eyes didn't leave the man, however –even when the sight blurred at the sharp increase of pain– so it saw when he reached into a pocket of his long white coat and pulled out a red and white sphere.

 

            A pokéball. It felt confusion, and then fear as a blinding white light lit up the room and a sensation terrifyingly similar to the Thing bore down on its awareness — a new presence. It reared back –as much as it could against the push-pull that kept it touching the wall– when a golden pokémon(?!) formed from the light and immediately fixed it with a frighteningly intelligent gaze.

 

            After a long moment the Kadabra _–(How did it know that?)–_ turned away to look at the man expectantly, the silver spoon clutched in one of the pokémon’s clawed hands gesturing vaguely in its direction, though the pokémon remained silent. The man didn't say anything, either, but his eyes flit between it and the pokémon, and the pokémon nodded.

 

            It was confused, deeply, but that wasn't an unusual occurrence. That feeling was practically its state of being.

 

            "Can you understand me?" it tore its gaze from the Psi pokémon and back to the man, wary but hopeful.

 

            "Yes." it rasped hoarsely. "Do you know me?" Because that nagging insistence that this man was _familiar_ wouldn't relent. It _knew_ his scent somehow! It flinched slightly when the strange rippling feeling brushed the fringes of the emptiness in the mind, but still saw the way the man tilted his head as if he were _listening to something_.

 

            "Very good." He drawled after a short pause, after the rippling disruption stopped and the psychic pokémon turned back to it, long golden face unmoving but somehow unfriendly. "If I release you, will you listen to me and behave?"

 

            "Yes!" it didn't hesitate –didn't _question_ – at all, bombarded with thoughts of _emptydarkalone_ to such a degree that the eyes stung, the vision blurred. "Yesyes, please, yes." And it didn't flinch when their outside-Thing happened again, too intent on watching the way the man's face twitched, the way it pulled at the livid scar. A smile? Was that smile for _it_?

 

            "Very _good_." The man said again, coolly, gaze assessing. "Stay down until I tell you otherwise; if you move, Kadabra will stop you. And you will never leave this room again." His statement was short, dispassionate, but carried a promise of truth.

 

            It choked and nodded once, and then held perfectly still as the man came to loom over the kneeling body. It even managed to mostly suppress a pained shudder when the arms were jarred. It watched Kadabra to keep the mind off the clink and clatter behind the back, and the _burn_ as the arms were released to fall and dangle limply from the shoulders. Kadabra slowly tilted his head, spoon making a slow, hollow pattern of clicks against his claws, tail-tip flicking every third heartbeat. It counted the heartbeat to keep the breathing even.

 

            It exhaled shakily – _free_ – but even without trying to move yet, resisting the siren's call to shift and relieve the terrible ache in the knees, it knew something was wrong. The pain was even worse in the shoulders now than it had been before, and the arms were strangely devoid of feeling. Something was _wrong_.

 

            The man stepped back, looking down on it with an inscrutable expression. "You may stand."

 

            It looked away from the pokémon and nodded, shifting on the knees for a moment and trying to reign in the growing panic because it _couldn't feel the arms_ , and tried to stand. And failed. Tried, and failed again. The legs were still numb, and without the use of the arms to establish balance it only succeeded in tipping sideways to the floor. It released a strangled hiss at the weight falling put on the shoulder, but couldn't right itself. The body went limp with shame.

 

            The air rippled, and it saw Kadabra once more gesturing with its spoon through blurry, watering eyes. It yelped when, a mere moment later and only the scarred man's nod as warning, it was suspended upright in the air. It squirmed briefly, but stopped – _glaring, why?_ – at a strange huffing sound from the pokémon. Was it laughing?

 

            "It appears that you managed to sprain your shoulders." The man said, tone even but eyes narrowed in a way that made the body want to recoil. "We'll have to fix that first, then."

 

            Things seemed to blur as the man – _(who was he, why hadn't he answered; did he know something?)_ – led the way out of the dim room, Kadabra a step behind and the body suspended in the air behind the pokémon. The lights nearly blinded it, reflecting off shiny chrome walls and polished white floors, but it only wondered where the other people had gone. It could smell them nearby, scents fresh, but the halls remained empty save for the mismatched trio. It peered at the occasional closed door warily as they passed, shifting uneasily in the force holding the body aloft: it could hear movement behind them, but the neck was held still, unable to turn.

 

            They came upon a thick steel door, outwardly indistinguishable from any other in the hall, that opened into a bright room completely done in white tiles. Sunk into the center of the floor was a large, dark grate, a low bench set almost directly over it and the end of a long coil of hose draped overtop. Against the far wall was a long metal table, and next to that a tall, sturdy cabinet; the scarred man immediately went to the cabinet and worked a moment to undo the heavy looking lock on the front. He turned around a moment later, a small pink and gray spray-bottle in hand as he gestured for Kadabra to release the body onto the bench.

 

            "This may sting." he said lowly – _almost_ like a warning, but not quite–, cool eyes tracing over the shoulders and his free hand following a moment later. It flinched, but made itself hold still when the man fixed it with a sharp look. "It is a potion. Hold still."

 

            The potion – _hyper potion_ , something said– didn't sting at all; it sighed and relaxed completely as the cool spray misted over the shoulders and the pain faded away nigh instantaneously. A moment later feeling returned to the arms, and it flexed the hands in relief. The man continued to spray other portions of the body with potion, however, and it became aware of each pain as they faded: The numbness of the lower legs, the bruising ache of the wrists and the prickling sting around the neck all faded to cool relief.

 

            "Hm. That's much better now, isn't it?" It nodded at the man gratefully, but understood now what the warning looks implied and didn't attempt to move more than that until he stepped back. He turned away, taking the nozzle of the previously ignored hose with him as he made his way back to the cabinet, Kadabra silent at his side. "Are you able to stand, now?"

 

            It blinked at his turned back and stood, but in the process of bracing the hands on the knees, it saw itself for the first time, and froze. It stared at the pale green talon –not a hand, a _talon_ ; two thick, clawed fingers and a thinner _(out of place?)_ thumb– and the three long, unhealthily yellowed leaves that sprouted from just above the wrist. The stomach twisted sharply.

 

            Its breath came in quick, uneven pants as it brought the talons to the face: It felt the long snout, the smooth scales under the palms, the nest of lank, uneven hair and the very long, wrinkled leaf that sprouted from the crown. Only upon looking down did it discover the strange way it stood –on long feet ending in two toes much like the digits on the talons–, with bent knees and pointed _(hooked?)_ heels not quite touching the ground.

 

            But why was it surprised? It couldn't remember ever being any _different_ than how ot was; how could looking upon itself feel right and yet so _wrong_?

 

            When the first splash of lukewarm water hit the floor by the feet, it looked back to the scarred man — to the neutrality on his face that was too perfect to be anything but false. And it _knew_ somehow that this man knew them. And that meant that it _was_ somebody.

 

            _(Had_ been _somebody?)_

 

            "How do you know me?" it hissed abruptly, because, because… It looked between the man and his pokémon, suddenly very bothered. Because they _both_ knew it somehow, but it was so _different_ that the man – _the human, it's because he's_ human – couldn't even understand it without the pokémon there to translate. "Who _am_ I?" Because it had to be _someone_.

 

            "Be calm." The man warned, a strange expression crossing his face briefly, one quickly gone and replaced by an almost sympathetic look. "I am sad that you don't remember me, but you have been sick for a long while. Thankfully the cost of curing the madness was only your memories, and not your life."

 

            "Sick?" it parroted weakly, unable to keep itself from glancing down and taking in the unhealthy _(was it unhealthy? It seemed wrong, but what was right?)_ coloring again — then shook itself. "We _do_ know each other? Who are you — Who am _I_?"

 

            "Sick." He confirmed shortly, once the disquieting ripple of his pokémon translating had stopped, a small smile tugging on the scarred side of his mouth. "But you are cured now, and everything can return to how it is supposed to be.

 

            "My name is Erebos." He said as he came closer, movements deliberate, and raised the hose to spray the legs with lukewarm water. "And you… Your name is Yori.

 

            "You are my partner."

 

* * *

 

            Yori sat placidly on the strange bed of gel, watching Erebos talk to another person across the room they had moved to. A woman with long dark hair and blue eyes so light they were nearly white, framed by thick, black-rimmed glasses. She seemed familiar, just as Erebos had, but Yori didn't worry overly-much about the sensation this time, distracted more by what their… _partner_ had told them.

 

            She – _she_ , Erebos had assured her as he cleaned the accumulated filth from her pale scales – was Erebos' partner, much like Kadabra, and with a similar duty as the pokémon. It was Yori's duty, as Erebos told her, to fight for and protect the man whenever it was necessary, whenever it was needed. Yori would do whatever Erebos said, and Erebos would take care of Yori. Because Yori was still sick, and some of the people Erebos worked with wanted her eliminated for fear of her madness returning.

 

            _("But I'm not a pokémon, am I?" Yori asked confusedly — why else would she have to fight?_

_"No, you're not." Erebos responded with a cool smile, and didn't elaborate.)_

 

            "Yori." She looked up from her perusal of a long line of darker scales across her thigh –a scar– when Erebos called. Both he and the woman stood just before her, but Yori was slightly more interested in the other, _unfamiliar_ , people in white coats flooding into the room, going to separate stations throughout the lab. "Yori, pay attention. This is Morgan. She needs to take care of you; you will listen to her and cooperate with whatever she needs to do."

 

            Yori looked at the woman, tilting her head to one side and very slightly parting her jaws, curious and unhappy when the tang of a nervous sweat broke through the chemical smell permeating the air. The new angle allowed her to view with sharp acuity the way the short hairs on the sides of Morgan's neck stood. Fear. One of the ones who was afraid from when Yori was sick?

 

            She tilted her head the other way and glanced at Erebos – _blank, expectant_ – before nodding once and making a clear show of relaxing, spreading her talons flat next to her and keeping her leaves folded.

 

            Yori looked at Erebos again for approval, and saw his scar pull in an approximation of a smile; he was pleased. She also saw the way Morgan arched a dark eyebrow at their silent exchange, but just as deliberately ignored it, instead tracking her partner as he turned and left them. While the woman went about (cautiously, warily) attaching little sensors and wires to her scales, Yori observed the subtleties of the others' reactions to _Erebos_.

 

            It was strange. A great many of the scientists shrank in on themselves or shied away as Erebos came close, but the scarred man treated the reactions with such patent disregard… And then there was another one in the corner, small, thin, with chin-length auburn hair that alternated between watching Yori and her partner. Yori couldn't read his expression, but it was nothing like the looks the other scientists gave either of them: He, unlike all the others in the room, didn't appear to be _doing_ anything, either.

 

            Yori jerked and looked down sharply when a small pain spiked from her inner arm, and shifted in discomfort when she discovered that Morgan had pried up one of the thin, tiny scales that lined the crook of her arm to insert a needle. She hissed quietly –curiosity; what was the woman doing?– but cut herself off abruptly when all the people within earshot retreated a few quick steps. Half of the number suddenly had pokéballs grasped tightly in hand, eyes hard and bodies tense, still and poised.

 

            "Yori." Erebos had somehow managed to cross the length of the lab without her noticing, into the space that had cleared so quickly. "You must remain quiet and still, remember?" She barely listened to her partner –the _reprimand_ –, staring at the strange remote clutched in his hand; the sight of it was familiar, and sparked a sinking fear in her that made her duck her head. Hide her neck…

 

            There was something around her neck.

 

            It was hard and unyielding, tight to her throat, and with her head tucked it pressed almost painfully into the soft underside of her jaw. A collar. A thick, metal collar. Yori remembered how much her neck had stung before Erebos used the Hyper Potion on it.

 

            _What was going on?_

 

            But she held her silence, and remained frozen in the minutes it took for everyone to calm and return to their duties. What choice did she have? It was obvious from the way they reacted that none of the scientists could understand her… Just like Erebos. _Her partner?_ Yes, her partner, her companion. _What was her duty?_ Yori's duty was to listen, not to speak: She could do that… if she had to…

 

            In the bright white lab full of humans and unending activity, Yori felt more alone than she had in the dark. When she'd lacked even the most basic grasp of things such as 'identity' and 'reality'…

 

            Dark haired and ice-eyed Morgan came back with steady hands but the smell of fear wafting off her skin. Yori only glanced at her before refocusing on the spot across the room, where Erebos stood talking to the small red-haired man.

 

            And Yori twitched. Not from the sudden dizziness as Morgan drew vial after vial of slightly green-tinged blood, but from the unnerving sight of the redhead smiling in her direction. Yori couldn't say _why_ it disturbed her –there was nothing inherently sinister about the curl of his lips; the expression was actually quite _childlike_ – but it made her feel sick. Like her heart was sinking to hide in her gut, and at the same time her stomach was trying to crawl out her throat.

 

            The emptiness in her head _ached_.

           

* * *

 

            _"They may say it is for understanding one another better, but what Trainers really use battles for is to compete… And they hurt each others' pokémon! Am I the only one who finds this terribly painful?_

_"Whatever… I'm going to talk to your pokémon. I've been living with pokémon since I was born, so it's easier for me to talk with them than with people._

_"…Because pokémon never tell lies."_

 

* * *

 

 

 


	3. Doubt

 

 

            It was so quiet in the new room that Yori could hear herself breathe, could almost believe that she could hear the blood pulsing through her veins. When Morgan and her team of fear-scented assistants had first brought her here –an empty room full of strange beds and an excess of unknown equipment; a closed-off extension of another lab, one she could still _see_ owing to the barred windows beside the lone door– the utter silence hadn't been so prominent, and Yori hadn't noticed. Erebos hadn't come –had in fact ordered her _obedient_ and left with the petite redhead that continued to make Yori's insides feel hollow and cold– and Yori was too nervous to notice much as the woman made her sit on a strange bed and _("Hold still," Morgan hissed, something like disgust coloring her tone. An urge came to Yori, then, to_ bite _, but Erebos said she needed to obey, and Yori didn’t want the cure again.)_.

 

            She was alone, now, but thankfully had been left with something to distract her from the silence besides the occasional glimpse of a scientist peering in through the barred window. Though expressly forbidden from stepping foot off the bed –the warning Morgan had given as she attached tape and wire to Yori, to a machine, had promised hostility, violence, and wasn't worth challenging– she could easily enough survey the entirety of the room, had she desire to, but there was little of interest. What held her attention, however, stood just beside her and was unique to the rest of the room.

 

            It was a tall lamp with a wide face and over a dozen light bulbs inside. The face pointed at her and cast hot, golden light onto her scales, very much unlike the cold white lights of the labs and hallways she’d seen so far. Like the sun. _(What was the sun?)_ It revitalized and energized, jolting her body out of stasis: Only then had Yori felt the hunger gnawing in her belly, and gratefully gulped down the bowl of tangy-hot mush left by the retreating scientists. Some kind of berry blend, seeds and skin still to be found in the lumpy mass. She was too ravenously hungry to care about the flavor, though the almost-sour flavor made her tongue curl tight in an unpleasant manner.

 

            An unknown amount of time passed while the light kept Yori held captive, mind strangely quiet and unhurried as a tingling sensation sparked under her scales, a pleasant shiver. Then the sensation moved to her leaves, burning at first and then a warm relief. With half-lidded eyes, Yori watched thin veins of deep, healthy green web though the yellowed leaves tucked flat against her forearms, wrinkles slowly smoothing out.

 

            Instinct told her that this was because of the light. Sunlight, simulated though it was, was healing her. Slowly, though. There was something about that, wasn't there? A way to speed up the process, she _knew_ …

 

            It was like meditating. All that gaping emptiness in her head just made it easier to stop thinking about anything else: Forget everything _(confusion hurt loneliness)_ but the sensation of energy blooming under her scales, flowing, stimulating, healing… She could feel the transfer of energy, from light to the heady vitality that sustained life, and if she could just reach out and _grasp_ it—

 

            Bright yellow eyes snapped open, the thin ring of gray iris swallowed up by the rapid dilation of slit pupils as Yori's body abruptly went rigid, jerked out of her meditation – _almost; so close!_ – by the heavy _click_ of the door to the room unlocking. Immediately a wash of sound erased the silence, the murmur of overlapping voices from the lab and then the loud chatter of the group flowing in, and the solid _clang-thud_ of the heavy door closing and locking once more.

 

            Yori counted a dozen scientists in the room, but only recognized one of them: Morgan had her long black hair pulled back into a tight tail, face as cool as steel as she lead the new group. When the tight procession split up, however, Yori saw that they weren't there for her this time. Between them was a contraption –a cross between a cart and a gurney– which held a restrained, unconscious figure. Yori shifted where she sat as they passed her by –a good number of them shying away, all but Morgan refusing to catch her gaze– and managed a good look at the figure. The shape was mostly human, female, but just as obviously not belonging to that species; she was completely covered in light, glossy olive green fur, and her face was distinctly canine. As they passed, the air took on a strong smell of ozone. Electricity.

 

            _Electrike._

 

            Yori blinked. Electrike? Yes, that…person…did have the right coloring for it, but Electrike was a _small_ electric _pokémon_. That wasn't a pokémon. Not really. Like her then? Like Yori? Pokémon, but not?

 

            A clattering drew Yori's attention outwards again, in time to see the last of many restraints fall undone and a few of the underling scientists regroup around the deeply unconscious figure. "On three," one man said, sliding his hands under the figure's shoulder –three others did the same at her legs and opposite shoulder. "One, two, _three_." Together they lifted the limp pokémon/girl and set her on another nearby bed, only one unoccupied space separating them from Yori.

 

            The procedure they took with the electric type was vastly different than what Yori had undergone. Immediately, more restraints were fastened to her limbs and across her body, all the while Morgan stepped aside and started typing away on a previously covered panel set into the thick metal supports of the bed. Yori blinked when the color of the gel mattress changed from opaque white to dull yellow, and the smell of ozone in the room diminished immediately.

 

            Yori drummed her talons on the neutral-white gel of her own bed and wondered: Why?

 

            Her head snapped over to the door when it clicked and opened once more, admitting yet another scientist –this one's white labcoat shorter, falling barely to his thighs instead of to his calves–, a sheaf of paper grasped in one hand. "I got the blood work!" he announced, moving rapidly towards the gathering, brandishing the paper like a holy item. "You won’t _believe_ this!"

 

            The paper was passed around quickly, sparking intense conversation in low tones and contemplative looks at the deeply unconscious girl, until it reached Morgan's hands; the woman took a considerably longer time, blue eyes reading and re-reading the report before handing it back to the messenger. There was silence for a long moment as she adjusted her glasses and looked over her assistants — she frowned when her eyes met Yori's.

 

            Morgan looked away first, and a brief flare of dark satisfaction alit in Yori's chest.

 

            "Alright then. Jettis, bring out the ultrasound and show me when you get an image." A middle-aged man with short, dull orange hair split away from the group to retrieve a cart of machinery at the other end of the room. "Malory, I want you to do a quick exam—and you, Tsurumi, take notes." A young woman with short, dishwater blonde hair nodded and pulled on a pair of purple latex gloves, while a thin man with dark skin and pale blue hair pulled a clipboard off a hook on the food of the bed with a faint grimace. "Avery, go get a copy of the specimen's history, and the Luxio's file as well; leave them on my desk. Tell team three to prepare their lab for inspection." The messenger in the shorter coat immediately turned and left, presumably to his assigned tasks. The remaining unnamed scientists clustered around the electric type, close but clearly practiced in unobtrusively watching.

 

            For a few minutes Yori watched too, as the blonde woman manipulated the comatose figure’s limbs, palpitated her belly, pulled back her lips and eyelids and flashed a light inside, murmuring too low to hear while the blue-haired man scribbled on his clipboard. She had to look away, though, unease twisting her stomach with a sense of wrongness she couldn't pinpoint when the restraints were manipulated to fold the girl’s legs up. Yori wouldn't watch—something about watching that was wrong.

 

            Some of the other scientists standing around idly would glance over at her occasionally, expressions of mingled curiosity or unease on their faces. Yori did her best to ignore them, but couldn’t succeed completely. She missed Erebos; at least _he_ didn't look at her like that, even if he was strange and couldn't understand what she said. Where _was_ he?

 

            Over the quiet murmuring of the group Yori picked out Morgan's voice, and so wasn't surprised when she and two others broke away to approach Yori’s bed, one of the two unnamed obviously lagging. Something dark in the back of her head wanted to bare her fangs, just to see him flinch; Yori ignored it the best she could _(she didn’t want the cure again.)_.

 

            "Be still, Yori." Morgan commanded, an order that would probably become the words she heard most, depressingly. But Yori complied, not shifting from her loosely cross-legged position as the trio came close and split around her bed. The meekest one went to the machine that she was attached to via a score of wires and studied the display screen on one side, while the other unknown individual stood at their shoulder, murmuring softly and pointing at the same screen. Neither looked at her for more than a second at a time, and never came close to meeting her eyes, even when she stared hard enough that she could smell them beginning to sweat.

 

            Morgan came to a stop before her, frown creasing her forehead. "Yori. You will answer my questions: Nod for yes and shake your head for no." She paused. "Do you understand?"

 

            Yori stared blankly for a moment, just long enough for the woman's pale eyes to narrow, before she nodded curtly, more a jerk of her neck than anything. Morgan frowned at her darkly, but it failed to affect Yori; the woman smelled of fear under the chemicals that clung to her skin like a miasma.

 

            "Are you in any pain?" Shake. "Are you still hungry?" Pause, nod. "Did you sleep?" Shake. "Are you tired at all?" Shake. "Do you know what happened there?" The woman pointed one dainty finger at her leaves, which were now more green than yellow and only slightly crinkled: Yori fanned them open briefly, ignoring the synchronized recoil from the trio, before folding them back again and nodding 'yes'.

 

             "Do you know _how_?" Yori blinked at the lady-scientist once, then tilted her head slightly, looking at the lamp and then back at the woman. When Morgan didn't appear to pick up on the gesture Yori carefully uncurled one talon and pointed instead; though she was annoyed, she took care to keep her movements slow and to a bare minimum.

 

            _("I cannot always protect you from the ones that fear you." Erebos lectured her while they waited for the chaos in the lab to settle. "They will always be wary of a relapse, and it will make them more likely to use violence for any misstep on your part. Don't ever move suddenly. Don't ever let any annoyance or anger show when you are not with me._

_"Remember, however, that you are_ my _partner. If they do something to you, just wait—I will find out, and_ I _will deal with it.")_

 

            "Ms. Morgan, I have something." Abruptly and without another word the trio around her bed left, gravitating back to the electric type. Yori glanced over quickly, and her attention stayed when she noticed that the invasive examination had been completed during Morgan's questioning, the girl’s restraints redone. There was a new monitor at the bedside, and the assistant identified as 'Jettis', the one who had spoken, was leant over the girl, some unidentifiable piece of technology pressed to her stomach.

 

            "There we are." Morgan said, voice easily heard over the murmurs of the others. She traced something on the screen, indistinct blurs of white and gray and black, but obviously something meaningful to the scientists. "Opinions? Hypotheses? One at a time." More than anything, it sounded like she was teaching a class. This disturbed Yori deeply, though again, she didn't know why.

 

            "It doesn't look like it could be more than a few weeks since conception." Stated one from within the cluster, followed by noises of general assent. Yori tipped her head and blinked slowly, listening carefully but without an ounce of understanding. It felt like something she should have understood, but must have forgotten. “Even human gestation couldn’t account for this stage in a longer timeframe, completely discounting any untested hypothesis about how the pokémon genes might factor in.”

 

            "We've had her for almost four months, now. It's definitely not that old." The one who said this was at the edge of the group and had a manila file held open in his hands, flipping though the sheets of paper inside. "And… Yes, the one the specimen's housed with, they apparently were obtained together. He's male, and they were in a long-term relationship—two years. Same egg group, if that even matters here."

 

            A rather androgynous scientist with ear-length brown hair and large glasses shuffled closer to the monitor. "That looks like it could be a thin shell," They traced an arc on the screen. "It doesn't… No, the profile of the face is wrong—it can't be human." More murmurs followed as a couple others moved in closer to see.

 

            "See here," said Morgan, pointing again at the screen. "That's too thin to be the shell of a true egg, and the development is at the wrong stage; in a pokémon it would've been laid by now."

 

            "What do you think, Ms. Morgan?" The dishwater blond –'Malory'– asked, and the rest quieted completely. Yori shivered, but quickly held still; she didn't want their attention on her, not ever. There was something very wrong here.

 

            "I think… I believe that our work may have bred true. We’ll obviously need to continue to monitor the specimen's pregnancy to see if it remains viable… And of course we’ll need to see in the other specimens, because one tentative result does not make a trend… But we may have achieved a breakthrough here.

 

            "We may have engineered a life form viable enough to independently propagate. We very well could’ve just made our loophole."

 

* * *

 

            Mercifully, Morgan and her group hadn't turned their attention to Yori before they left, but in a way the wait had been agonizing. It felt like it shouldn’t have, but being forced to remain constantly alert had quickly exhausted her, and she couldn’t be anything _but_ alert around the scientists. They set her on edge. The feeling wouldn't leave; like if she relaxed her guard the slightest bit they would pounce upon that weakness. And do what? Yori didn't want to know. Her head was so empty, and she wanted to know _so much_ , but _not that_.

 

            There was something very wrong going on here, and Yori strongly suspected it had something to do with her. Her, and the unconscious girl sharing the strange Infirmary with her; a girl that looked like a cross between a human and a pokémon.

 

            Was that what she, Yori, was? Maybe, probably, she couldn't be sure, but it seemed likely enough. Her head was an empty, gaping place where things she must’ve known used to reside, and the remnants were dubious and random at best. Yori couldn't compare what she knew of her appearance and come up with a similar one in a pokémon, but… She didn't know if it was because she couldn't remember, or if she had just never _known_.

 

            Yori bit down on a surprised exclamation as the figure she'd been passively observing jerked awake with an alarmed yelp. For a long moment she remained frozen as she watched the _(other?)_ pokémon hybrid _(?)_ thrash against the many restraints that held her down, the smell of ozone building in the room once more. Then Yori caught sight of the monitor above the Electrike girl's bed, and the flashing red light blinking in the corner of that screen—it could mean nothing good. What if it brought Morgan and her ilk back?

 

            "Shh!" Yori hissed, half-turned to see out the heavily barred window, but no, no, no one was coming. It was alright. Still without moving much –it wouldn’t take a lot to disturb the wires, and she _wouldn't_ do it– Yori turned her head back to the other, and caught the gaze of intense, stormy blue eyes. Yori blinked.

 

            "You!" The girl exclaimed, suddenly lax in her restraints as she stared. Yori blinked again and shifted, uncomfortable; the girl didn't seem familiar in the slightest, not even like some of the scientists did. "We thought you were dead! Trien's been asking the others, _everyone_ , about you for weeks! What happened—what did they do to you?"

 

            Wait, what? Yori had been… _missed_? What _others_? Who was Trien? And… the Electrike girl was speaking the human language, of that she was sure. How? Yori didn't think she could—was _she_ the strange one, then?

 

            "I…don't understand." Yori said after a long pause. And then she waited, because there was no point in saying anything else unless…

 

            "What don't you understand? Trien cares for you a great deal, she's been worried sick! Even tried to talk to that nutcase, the Sneasel, because of how often they bring him out. But you need to tell me; what did they do to you? I need to warn the others—because, really? You're not looking all that great." The girl spoke very quickly, her words punctuated by –equally quick– shallow breaths. Yori was curious about her lax posture within the restraints, finding it odd when she had been fighting them so wildly just a minute past and was now so still.

 

            "I…don't know." Yori replied at last, breaking eye contact with the other and staring at the wires connected to her pale arm instead. Some of them were starting to pain her. Some of them weren't just stuck _to_ her scales, but had needles that were lodged _underneath_. "They said I was sick. Who…who is Trien? And you, do I know you?"

 

            When a response wasn't immediately forthcoming, Yori forced herself to look at the other again, and almost recoiled at the look aimed at her; it was nothing violent, but something almost…scared. And then it changed, and the Electrike-girl pulled against her restraints as stormy-blue eyes jumped over Yori's seated form. Her eyes widened.

           

            "You're not tied down," she whispered, a spark of yellow electricity dancing over her muzzle before it was sucked away by the polarity of the gel mattress below her. The girl didn't appear to notice. "Why aren't you—? No, you can tell me when it matters. Come let me up! I know the way to the others; from the outside we can let everyone out, and these assholes won't stand a chance if we team up!" Yori shifted again but didn't attempt to move otherwise; she couldn't bring herself to meet the girl's eyes anymore, but she didn’t know why. The cold feeling in the pit of her stomach was back.

 

            "I’m not allowed to move until my partner says I can. He said if I do what I’m not supposed to, the others will think I'm still sick, and try to hurt me." A shiver crawled down her back and Yori tensed to keep it from spreading, eyes fixed on the opaque gel to the side of her folded knee. "Or use the cure again."

 

            "Wha-" The girl's voice shook slightly, and she stopped to clear her throat before speaking again; even then, her voice was smaller than what it had been before. Scared. She could probably smell Yori's fear, like Yori could smell hers. "What is the 'cure'?"

 

            Yori closed her eyes and sighed, the emptiness in her head aching as if it knew it were being spoken of. She shook her head and shrugged, but didn't bother to open her eyes. "A dark room, something psychic. He said I was lucky, that the price of curing me was only my memories."

 

            The girl made a choked noise, but Yori ignored her in favor of turning to the door, which had made the heavy _click_ that signified it’s unlocking. She sat up straighter when she saw that it was Erebos, not Morgan or one of the other scientists she didn’t recognize. The scarred man stood in the open doorway for a moment, unreadable hazel eyes jumping from Yori to the electric type and back again, before he said something under his breath and came to her bedside.

 

            "Yori." Erebos only glanced at her briefly, eyes instead scanning the monitor like the two nameless scientists had; after a moment he tapped the screen and there was the sound of something powering down. He began removing the wires and needles from her body with swift efficiency. "Come, we have things to do elsewhere and you've had quite enough rest."

 

            Yori nodded silently and slid off the bed, stumbling slightly on numb legs before righting herself and standing placidly at Erebos' side. He looked her over intently, eyes lingering on her leaves –only the slightest bit yellow by now and completely unwrinked– and hummed lowly, eventually gesturing for her to stay by his side as they turned to leave the Infirmary.

 

            "What did you do to her, you asshole?!" The Electrike hybrid exploded from her previous state of frozen disbelief. Yori had almost forgotten she was there, with her partner's reappearance. " _Yori_? That's not her name—how dare you, you _monster_!"

 

            " _Silence_ , you." Erebos hissed, turning his back to Yori and facing the restrained, furious hybrid; whatever the girl saw on his face was enough for her to snap her muzzle shut and sink into the mattress fearfully. "Don't you _think_ that we don't know how much you care for your dear _Tybalt_. Wouldn't it be such a shame if he were to suffer an _accident_ for your smart mouth. Remember your place."

 

            Though unnerved by the vitriol in her companion's voice, Yori followed him quietly when Erebos turned and left the room without another word. She spared one last glace at the cowed Electrike girl, but couldn't bear more than that, and couldn't get the shouted words out of her head.

 

            Her name _was_ Yori, wasn't it? Erebos _wasn't_ a monster, either…

 

            … Was he?

 

* * *

 

            Catherine 'Cat' Stillwater came awake to the familiar-but-not face of her lover hovering inches from the end of her muzzle. Under the blue and black fur, luminous golden-yellow eyes and distinctly feline features she could still make out the face of the boy who had captured her heart when they attended the Pokémon Academy. Who had undergone the loss of a human identity with her, and stayed with her through however many months of hell. However long ago they had been ambushed and abducted by the people who had turned them both into something not human, but not pokémon either.

 

            "You alright?" Tybalt asked softly, his voice rumbling in his chest and through hers, and Cat realized she was back in her prison –the greatest farce, a place that looked like outside, the wilderness, but _wasn't_ – and Tybalt was wrapped around her protectively. "C'mon, Cat, are you alright?" Cat shifted and sat up –Tybalt rising with her– as static electricity sparked between their forms; she could feel it when it reached her once-tame hair and expanded it out into the green and yellow mane that identified the newer part of her genetic ancestry. Electrike.

 

            Hands –blue-furred, fingers thicker than they once had been, tipped with dangerous hooked claws and encircled by twin golden rings on each wrist– smoothed over her cheeks, cradled her head and then drew her into a soft embrace. Over his shoulder, Cat could see his cable-like tail flick and beat a soft tattoo onto the flattened grass that had become their 'nest'. She looked farther, over the golden waist high grasses, and saw the gunmetal glint of the bars separating their area from the next cage. She swallowed thickly.

 

            "Tybalt," she rasped, voice hoarse, and she had to clear her throat when it tried to close up. Oh, Arceus, her eyes were starting to water. "Tybalt, I need to talk to Trien, right now. And Terren. I learned something that could affect us all, and everyone needs to know."

 

            Tybalt rumbled a reassuring purr into the pointed ear that just peeked out of her mane and then sighed, pulling her up with him as he stood, and together they ambled towards the bars. The grass rustled softly at their passing, and Cat looked up, past the set of horizontal bars far above her head and to the gray dome ceiling much higher. The orb of bright light was almost directly overhead; the last she had seen it –before an Abra had teleported in and spirited her away to the assholes in labcoats– it had been near the horizon. Setting. Who they thought they were fooling with this farce of day and night, of time passing, she didn't know, but… They had kept her away for about a day.

 

            Cat shivered and pressed closer to Tybalt's side for comfort. She could only remember being awake for about an hour, in the Infirmary. She hated those assholes. So, _so_ much.

 

            The duo came within touching distance of a set of the bars, and the irregular shape of each individual cage became readily apparent then. Separating each was a walkway wide enough for three men to walk abreast, and at this point the walkway split in two directions: Three separate cages met at obtuse angles, though one of them –different from its two neighbors by containing a small forest instead of grasslands– had been vacant for more than a fortnight.

 

            Cat looked into the forest –surely cultivated by the scientists' own grass pokémon; they _were_ underground– and frowned.

 

            "Do you want to call her, or should I?" Tybalt asked, watching Cat from the corner of his eye, large ears folded back and tail swishing slowly.

 

            "I'm fine for it, but I wouldn't mind if you added your voice." Cat reached out and twined her hand into his, the thickened pads on their paws brushing. "You still need the practice." There was the faintest hint of a smile in her voice. Being with Tybalt always helped make her feel safe again, though the feeling never lasted long enough.

 

            "Hey, you came by it naturally! That's not fair, Cat, low blow." There was definitely a smile in Tybalt's. Cat laughed, the frown creasing her brows finally smoothing out.

 

            In unison they inhaled deeply, and then opened their mouths and _Howled_. Tybalt's attempt started off too deeply, the intimidating rumble of a _Roar_ , but then he shifted an octave and the whine of unbridled electricity entered his voice and carried it far, twining with the voice of his mate. When the duo stopped _Howling_ both were panting, but their eyes were bright and their fur standing on end, sparking with shared electricity. Both empowered.

 

            They didn't have to wait more than a minute before the rustling of grass in the adjacent cage signaled the arrival of one of its two occupants. A second after that, the noise resolved itself into the form of a younger teenaged boy, one with a distinctly Furret-like appearance. His striped face was crumpled with nervous confusion as he slunk out of the grass and stood back on two legs, long pointed ears flickering alertly and fluffy tail held still. Terren offered them a subdued smile.

 

            "Trien'll be ova in jus' a sec." He told the electric types, forest green eyes scanning over their grasslands and the next set of bars. "She's calmin' down lit'le Lehn, new kid. Rat'ata, in wit' Jenny on tha otha side. Trien t'inks tha basta'd Oliver got ta 'im a'fore tha ass'oles caught 'im." The boy's ever-diminishing Orre accent was prominent in his agitation, taking the duo a few extra seconds to understand.

 

            When the message _did_ sink in, Cat frowned again while Tybalt winced. Oliver was – _had been?_ – one of the grunts they sent out to bring in more victims to experiment on, and rumor said he'd been caught brutalizing some of the younger kids, caught and punished, though no one knew for sure what'd happened. Just that one day he was there, and then the entire compound had been locked down tightly for a few hours, and when everything went back to 'normal' he wasn't mentioned anymore.

 

            Trien burst out of the grasses, then, a blur of brown and black solidifying into a petite young woman with an uncanny resemblance to an off-color Buneary. Where on the pokémon, the fluffy, cottony fur was generally a soft cream, Trien's was a rich black that matched the fastidiously well-groomed hair that flowed from her head to the small of her back. She favored the electric duo with a small smile as she came to stand before Terren, stretching an arm through the bars and into the gap without pause; when they both stretched, it was just enough for she and Cat to brush fingertips.

 

            "For you both to have called such attention to yourselves, I take it you have something important to share?" As always, something about the Buneary hybrid's smooth, melodious voice served to calm all those who heard it. That, and the fact that she had a good head on her shoulders made it no surprise that she was the hub of all information that came into this cursed place.

 

            Cat withdrew her hand from the walkway-space and nodded firmly—she knew her news was important, potentially dire, and needed to be heard and _spread_ as quickly as possible. Trien and Terren would ensure that every other prisoner in this place would know within an hour, some way or another.

 

            "The assholes just brought me back; I don't know for sure how long I've been gone—" ("Seventeen hours, by the lights." Tybalt growled.) "—but I don't think it's important this time. I woke up in the small infirmary, the one with the reinforced windows, attached to 'Study Lab 3'…" Cat shook her head and refocused; building a mental map of the complex was important, but this time there was _more_.

 

            "I wasn't alone. Trien, I’m _sure_ that it's the girl you've been asking after, the Grovyle." Next to her, Tybalt tensed, and belatedly Cat remembered that the last –and only– encounter between he and the Grovyle had resulted in him lashing out at the bars and subsequently being abducted by the assholes. They'd kept Tybalt sedated in one of their labs for three days before returning him; three days of wondering if _this_ was the time when one of them _wouldn't_ be coming back.

 

            "Naira?" Trien asked softly, while next to her Terren twitched uneasily, though his eyes never stopped scanning their surroundings alertly. Cat was pretty sure there was a story there, too… The short time the Grovyle had been kept in the adjacent cage had left some pretty deep impressions, that was for sure. "I had hoped, but thought for sure she was…" The Buneary hybrid shook her head as if to banish the unsaid words; _'thought she was_ dead _, like the others who just_ disappeared _'_. "How is she, Cat?"

 

            And _this_ was what Cat had been dreading, but Trien needed to know, they _all_ did. She gratefully relaxed into Tybalt's side when he wrapped a strong arm over her shoulders, obviously scenting her rising distress.

 

            "Not good, Trien. It's why I called you so quickly. She…They…" Her throat tightened up and she cleared it again angrily, a short growl shaking her chest; Terren was looking at her with wide green eyes, but Cat couldn't find it in herself to offer the boy a smile this time. She made herself turn back to Trien. "They've brainwashed her, Trien. She didn't recognize me…or your name. I don't think she knows _anything_!"

 

            "What?" An angry growl ripped from Tybalt's throat, electricity sparking along his fingers as he quickly caught onto her implication. Cat wrapped her hands over his to keep him from accidentally lashing the bars with his power again; the last thing they needed was to set off the alarms and call the assholes in.

 

            "Tell me more." Trien demanded, almond shaped eyes narrowed to angry slits, voice dark and dangerous and the _last_ thing anyone would expect from a _Buneary_. "Tell me everything." Even Terren's perpetual nervous twitching had stopped, and all eyes were on Cat. So she told them; everything she knew, everything she had seen.

 

            "She was completely subservient to that man… Arbos? Aebrus? The one with the scar on his face… Wait, wasn't _she_ the one who..? Oh, Arceus, she called him her _partner_. Ah… He called her 'Yori'. They didn't even have her restrained, unless you count that shock-collar clamped around her throat." The whole time Cat spoke, Terren kept sinking lower and lower to the ground, until his hands were buried to the first knuckle into the dirt and his long ears were pressed flat to his skull.

 

            "Do I have ta be heah, Trien?" The Furret mumbled softly, seeming younger than his fifteen years as he looked at his cellmate with large eyes. "I c'n… I _can_ go keep Lehn an'… _and_ Jenny com _pa_ ny." Terren's face scrunched up with focus as he made an attempt to eliminate the worst of his rather prominent accent—an ongoing effort, but fruitful, as he had been nigh incomprehensible when they'd originally brought him in.

 

            The Furret-boy was off like a shot before Trien had completed even a single nod, a straight line of swaying grass the only sign of his passage. Tybalt and Cat stared after him in shock, but Trien only shook her head and sighed.

 

            "He's unnerved," Trien told them softly, long ears bunched tightly to her head—the only sign she wasn't as calm as she sounded. "They tried to make him fight one of their pokémon the last time they took him. When he wouldn't, they put a collar on him and shocked him until he couldn't move." She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed again. "Please Cat, continue. You got to talk to her some? What did she say?"

 

            Cat closed her eyes and nodded; this was what everyone needed to know. Tybalt rumbled out another purr for her. "I asked her what they had done to her, but she didn't know. She said the assholes had told her she was _sick_ , though, and she _believed_ them!" She took a deep breath, and felt electricity dance over her teeth. _Sick_. The Grovyle looked sick _now_ , all pale scales and hurt eyes; it should’ve been harder to feel sorry for someone who had been such a menace. "And she told me about their _'cure'_. In her words: _"A dark room, and something psychic."_. And they told her that she was _lucky_ , that the cost of their 'cure' was _only_ her memories."

 

            Tybalt and Trien were silent as they processed Cat's words, and almost in unison they reacted. In one fluid motion the Buneary hybrid reared back and then furiously punched the ground, creating a muffled _whump_ and a cloud of dust as her small fist buried itself three inches into solid earth. Tybalt's arm tightened around Cat's shoulders and he started swearing violently under his breath, and had she not been an electric type –and predisposed to turning such charges harmless– she would have been electrocuted by the force of his anger.

 

            Trien recovered first, standing back up and running her fingers through the fluffy black fur covering her lower body—the beginnings of her species' almost compulsive need to groom, triggered by the stress. Her face was grim, but resolute.

 

            "Alright. Thank you Cat." She shook her head, looking over her shoulder without really seeing; lost in thought. "We know now, and knowledge is power. I can make sure that everybody knows… What _they_ can do. And that it's not safe to tell Naira… _Yori_ …anything. We can't chance her passing _them_ any of our plans." Her eyes were unbearably sad as she essentially gave up hope on the girl she'd spent the last few weeks asking after. Cat felt sorry for the Buneary, though she couldn't really comprehend the uncommonly strong bond the two seemed to have formed. She couldn't ask, though… Not right after telling her _that_ , that the girl she knew had for all intents ceased to exist.

 

            "I can make sure Adicus gets told." Cat offered softly, referring to the ice-type that was kept in the cell bordering the far side of theirs'; he was one of the few that Trien's net couldn't reach reliably through any other means. The Buneary nodded faintly and turned away, leaving in a contemplative daze without even offering her customary goodbye.

 

            Cat and Tybalt exchanged unsure looks, but as one turned away and left to seek out their timid neighbor. Maybe if they were lucky they could convince the boy to actually talk to them for a while. He obviously, _desperately_ needed the company of someone saner than his _other_ neighbor…

 

            Ten minutes after the group had separated, and all the hybrids had long since passed hearing distance, a patch of long grass rustled. A moment later a Taillow –abnormally small for its species– emerged, large eyes darting around cautiously as it left its hiding spot and into the no-man's-land of the walkway between each simulated habitat. With silence unusual for a bird pokémon, it launched itself into the air and flew swiftly away on slim blue wings, completely unnoticed.

           

* * *

 

 


End file.
